As I come to, my consciousness swimming up through layers of haze and confusion, the first thing I'm aware of is the biting cold. I'm in a bath, but not for relaxation; it's filled with chunks of ice, some melted into frigid water that numbs my skin. My body trembles uncontrollably, each shiver a sharp reminder of the cold that's seeping into my bones.

My mind is foggy, thoughts sluggish and disjointed, as if I'm trying to think through a blizzard. The cold is overwhelming, making it hard to focus on anything else. My teeth chatter, a staccato rhythm that's the only sound in the otherwise silent bathroom. I try to lift my arms, to push myself out of this icy grave, but they're heavy, almost unresponsive. It's like they've been filled with lead, refusing to obey my desperate commands. My muscles ache with the effort, a dull, persistent pain that's compounded by the cold.

The room around me is a blur, details lost in the haze that clouds my vision. The air is sharp, each breath I take feels like inhaling needles. The walls seem to close in on me, the space oppressive, the light too bright, assaulting my sensitive eyes.

I try to call out, but my voice is a hoarse whisper, lost in the sound of my own shivering. Panic starts to set in, a rising tide that threatens to engulf me. Where am I? How did I get here? Questions swirl in my mind, but they're slippery, elusive, impossible to pin down.

As I struggle to piece together my fragmented memories, a sense of vulnerability washes over me. I'm exposed, defenseless in this unknown place, my body at the mercy of whoever put me here. It's a terrifying realization, one that fuels my determination to escape this frozen hell.

With a monumental effort, I manage to sit up, the movement sending a fresh wave of shivers through my body. The edges of my vision darken, threatening to pull me back into unconsciousness. I fight it, clinging to awareness with everything I have. I need to get out, to find warmth, to understand what's happening. But the cold, it's relentless, a physical force that saps my strength and clouds my mind.

As I try to orient myself in this dingy bathroom, I realize that my senses are betraying me. My vision swims, light seeming to fracture into painful shards before my eyes. The flickering fluorescent bulb above casts a harsh, unsteady glow, making the room spin even more. It feels like I'm viewing the world through a broken lens, everything distorted, too bright, too intense.

I attempt to stand, but my legs are as cooperative as a junked bot in a scrapyard. They wobble, threatening to give out under me, and I grip the sides of the tub for support. My head is a haze of confusion, every thought trying to push through a thick fog. It's like someone's slipped something into my system - something that's playing havoc with my senses.

The voices outside grow louder, more distinct. I catch snatches of a brutal interrogation, the kind that leaves more than just bruises. Danny's in trouble, and here I am, tripping in a bathtub. Great.

I squint against the light, each pulse sending a new wave of nausea through me. The walls seem to pulse and breathe, and for a moment, I can't tell if it's my imagination or some twisted trick of the light. I shake my head, trying to clear it, but it only makes things worse.

Gritting my teeth, I focus on the door, my only escape. I need to move, to act, but my body feels like it's been filled with lead. Every step is an effort, a battle against the disorientation that threatens to pull me under.

I can't help the bitter laugh that escapes me. "Ryker, you've really done it this time," I mutter to myself, my voice sounding distant and unfamiliar. "Stuck in a Maelstrom bathhouse, high as a kite. Mom would be so proud."

Despite the situation, my sense of irony remains intact, a small comfort in the face of impending doom. Now, if only I could find my pants. And a plan. And maybe a way to stop seeing the walls move. That'd be great.

Struggling to focus, I realize the importance of assessing my current state. Instinctively, I try to initiate a system reboot, hoping it might clear my head, but the attempt is futile. Instead of the usual sequence of diagnostics, "ERROR" flashes mockingly before my eyes. Great, even my cyberware's decided to join the party of dysfunction.

The muffled sounds of a struggle penetrate the thin bathroom door. Thuds, grunts, and the unmistakable sound of flesh being struck. My heart sinks. That's Danny out there, caught in the brutal embrace of the Maelstrom gang. I strain to hear more, but the words are fragmented, distorted through the haze clouding my mind.

"...betrayal..." "...gonna hurt..." Laughter, cruel and mocking, filters through, sending a shiver down my spine. I catch snatches of Danny's voice, strained and pained. "...leave Ryker... he's got nothing to do with this..."

They're talking about me, deciding my fate while I'm helplessly soaking in a tub of melted ice. I have to do something, but what? My limbs feel heavy, unresponsive, and my thoughts are a scrambled mess. It's like trying to navigate through a storm with a broken compass.

I force myself to focus, to piece together a semblance of a plan. Escape is the priority, but how? I'm unarmed, barely able to stand, and my head's doing its best impression of a bad VR trip.

"Come on, Ryker," I urge myself, a mix of desperation and sarcasm in my voice.

Pain erupts in my head, sharp and demanding, like a spike driven through my skull. It's enough to send me toppling to the cold, grimy floor with a thud. The noise echoes through the small space, and I can hear the Maelstroms reacting outside. Footsteps approach, fast and heavy. I'm out of time.

My eyes, which have been a source of pain and disorientation, suddenly flare with an unexpected golden light. It's as if some hidden mechanism within me has been triggered, casting an eerie, luminescent glow over the dank bathroom. The light doesn't illuminate; it radiates, enveloping everything in a surreal, golden haze.

The door bursts open, and I glimpse the Maelstrom gang members through my blurred, glowing vision. They laugh, mocking my feeble attempts to rise, their faces twisted in cruel amusement. I'm a spectacle to them, a broken toy in their sadistic playground.

As I struggle, convulsing on the filthy floor, something extraordinary happens. Data codes – those elusive, swirling shadows I've been seeing – begin to hover above the ceiling. They move with a purpose, a strange dance that's both chaotic and harmonious. These streams of data, invisible to my captors, converge above me, pulsating with an energy that feels both alien and familiar.

In a moment that defies explanation, the codes descend, seeping into my body and mind. It's an invasion, yet not an unwelcome one. The sensation is overwhelming, like a torrent of information flooding every synapse and circuit. My mind expands, racing through the data, decoding, understanding, assimilating.

The chaos unfolding before me is almost surreal. Danny, battered and bloodied, somehow finds the strength to rise from his chair. He lunges at the nearest Maelstrom gang member, seizing the shotgun with a desperate, wild energy. The sound of the blast at close range is deafening, echoing off the grimy walls. Blood and viscera paint the scene in grotesque shades of red. It's a gruesome sight, but there's no time to process it.

I'm still on the floor, the golden light from my eyes casting an otherworldly glow. The data codes that had invaded my mind now seem to be reacting to the violence and tension in the air. I feel something building within me, a gathering storm of electrical energy that's both exhilarating and terrifying.

As the Maelstroms turn their attention towards the commotion, Danny keeps firing, his movements fueled by adrenaline and desperation. Each blast is a symphony of survival, a testament to his will to fight against impossible odds.

Suddenly, as one of the gang members approaches me, a surge of electricity arcs from my hands. It's an instinctive, uncontrolled response, sparked by the data codes that have merged with my consciousness. The electricity crackles through the air, a stunning display of raw power. The gang member closest to me is caught in the electric outburst, his body convulsing violently as the current fries his cybernetic enhancements.

The air is thick with the smell of burnt flesh and ozone. The remaining Maelstrom members recoil in shock and horror, unprepared for this turn of events. Danny, seizing the moment, continues his assault, taking down another gang member.

I lay there, exhausted and bewildered, trying to make sense of what just happened. The golden light from my eyes begins to fade, and the clarity brought on by the data codes dims. The reality of our situation sets in – we're in the heart of enemy territory, injured and outnumbered.

"Danny..." I manage to croak out, my voice hoarse and weak. "We need to get out of here..."

He nods, panting heavily, his eyes scanning for an escape route. The Maelstroms are regrouping, their shock turning into rage. We don't have much time.

With a Herculean effort, I push myself off the floor, every muscle screaming in protest. Danny offers me a supporting arm, and together, we stumble towards the door, our escape uncertain but necessary. The corridor outside the bathroom is a narrow, claustrophobic nightmare, lined with doors leading to unknown dangers. Danny moves with the precision of a seasoned soldier.

I'm leaning heavily on him, my legs barely able to support my own weight. My vision blurs at the edges, the world seeming to dissolve into a haze of pain and disorientation. Despite this, I can't help but be acutely aware of Danny's actions.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

He navigates the corridor like a ghost, moving swiftly and silently. When we encounter a Maelstroms rounding a corner, Danny doesn't hesitate. He steps forward, the shotgun roars, and the gang member crumples to the ground without a sound.

We continue to move, Danny guiding me with a firm grip. Suddenly, more Maelstrom members emerge from a doorway. Danny pushes me behind him, using his body as a shield. The hallway erupts in gunfire. The gang members are relentless, but so is Danny. He moves with a fluidity that belies his injuries, his shots never missing their mark. He ducks and weaves through the hail of bullets, his counterattacks precise and lethal.

In the midst of the chaos, my own abilities seem to have deserted me. The golden light from my eyes is gone, the data codes that had flooded my mind now silent. I'm a spectator in this dance of death, reliant on Danny's skill and determination. As we move, my vision begins to blur even more, the edges of my consciousness fraying. We reach a stairwell, and Danny guides me down, his hand never leaving my arm. The descent is a blur of pain and exertion, each step an agony. But Danny doesn't falter, his focus never wavering.

At the bottom of the stairs, the exit looms before us, a door leading back into the neon-lit nightmare of Night City. Danny pauses, listening for any sign of pursuit. The corridor behind us is a cacophony of shouts and gunfire, but for a moment, there's a lull, a brief respite.

"Danny..." I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "You're... you're incredible. Do you think that we will get 5 star review after this??"

He gives me a quick, grim smile, his eyes still scanning for danger. "Just doing what I have to, Ryker. Let's get out of here."

With that, he pushes the door open, and we step out into the night, leaving the chaos of the Maelstrom hideout behind us. The cool air of Night City hits me like a wave, bringing a moment of clarity amidst the pain and confusion.

As we stumble into the night, Danny's warning echoes in my ears. "We're not safe yet." His voice is strained, but there's an underlying steel in it, a resolve that has kept him alive in the ruthless streets of Night City.

I can feel my strength ebbing away with each step, my body on the verge of shutting down. I manage to quip, my voice weak but laced with irony, "At least at my flat, we might get a five-star safety rating, huh?"

Danny doesn't respond with words. Instead, he takes decisive action, spotting a car parked nearby. With a swift, practiced motion, he forces the door open, the urgency of our situation lending him extra strength. He practically throws me into the back seat, and in moments, we're speeding away from the Maelstrom's den.

As the city blurs past us, I lean back, trying to focus through the pain and disorientation. The codes I absorbed back at the Maelstrom base begin to manifest in my mind, swirling in complex patterns. They're like... sins?. It's overwhelming, a flood of data that threatens to drown me in its depth.

Danny keeps his eyes on the road, driving with a reckless speed that only someone accustomed to Night City's chaos can manage. He's silent, his focus entirely on getting us to safety. I can tell he's pushing his own limits, his body bearing the marks of the brutal encounter.

The journey is a blur, a mix of pain, adrenaline, and the relentless pulse of the city. When we finally screech to a halt outside my flat, I'm barely conscious, the world fading in and out of focus.

Danny helps me out of the car, his grip firm but careful. "We're here, Ryker. Just hold on a bit longer," he says, his voice a steady anchor in the storm.

As he half-carries, half-drags my naked body into my flat, I'm hit by a wave of relief mixed with apprehension. I collapse onto the couch, the last of my strength leaving me. The codes hover in my vision, an ever-present reminder of the new reality I've stumbled into. "Danny," I murmur, my voice barely audible, "We did it... someone gave us at least 4 stars... I see it while writing this chapter..."

As I collapse onto the couch in my flat, the exhaustion and pain overwhelming, the world around me starts to fade. My eyelids grow heavy, a deep fatigue pulling me under. The last thing I'm aware of is the shadowy presence of Danny, his figure a blurry guardian at the edge of my consciousness.

But sleep, as much as my body craves it, is elusive. It's not long before a raucous noise jolts me from my fitful rest. The sound is grating, insistent, and all too familiar - it's Mendy Kaminsky, my neighbor. She's loud, intrusive, and has a knack for sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Her voice pierces through the haze of my semi-conscious state, dragging me back to the harsh reality of my battered body and aching head.

Danny's voice rises in response, firm and unyielding. He's standing at the door, blocking Mendy's entry, their argument a cacophony of frustration and nosiness. I can hear her demanding to know what's going on, her tone a mix of concern and curiosity.

Despite the pain, a part of me is almost amused. Mendy's relentless prying is the last thing I need right now, but there's something almost comforting about the normalcy of her annoyance. It's a stark contrast to the madness of the night, a reminder of a life that feels like it's slipping away.

I try to sit up, each movement a battle against the exhaustion that clings to me like a heavy cloak. My vision is blurred, the room spinning slightly as I struggle to focus. I can hear Danny's voice, a low rumble of warning, telling Mendy to back off. But as I attempt to make sense of the argument, something else captures my attention. The data codes I absorbed back at the Maelstrom base are starting to manifest in my mind. They swirl before my eyes, a whirlwind of information that's both captivating and overwhelming.

It's like watching a series of images flashing by from a speeding train - brief, disjointed snapshots of the Maelstrom gang's crimes. I see violence, fear, and desperation, each image a stark reminder of the dark underbelly of Night City. The codes reveal secrets, hidden sins that are both horrifying and fascinating.

As Danny and Mendy's argument continues, I'm lost in this deluge of information. The scenes play out before me, too fast to fully grasp, yet vivid enough to leave a lasting impression. It's a torrent of data that threatens to drown me in its depth, a glimpse into a world that's both alien and eerily familiar.

Jolted back to a semblance of consciousness by the escalating argument at the door, I attempt to gather my scattered thoughts. In the midst of this mental chaos, my hand brushes against something foreign attached to my head. It's a small, electronic device - a data stick - plugged into a socket I didn't even realize I had. Confusion and alarm surge through me as I gingerly touch it, the reality of the situation sinking in.

"What the hell?" I mutter, my voice hoarse. With trembling fingers, I try to remove the data stick, each movement sending a wave of discomfort through my skull. This foreign object, a silent intruder in my head, feels like a violation of my very being.

As I struggle with the data stick, Danny finally shuts the door on Mendy's insistent queries, her complaints muffled by the barrier he places between us and her prying nature. Turning his attention to me, he notices the data stick in my hands. His expression shifts from concern to alarm.

"We're screwed," Danny exclaims, the gravity of the situation etched on his face. He rushes over, throwing a bundle of clothes at me. "Put these on, now!"

The first item is a t-shirt, one I bought on a whim because it has a ridiculously large image of a cartoon cat wearing sunglasses. It's the kind of shirt that screams 'ironic fashion choice' at best.

Next are the pants – bright yellow cargo shorts that I'm pretty sure I bought for a costume party and never wore again. They're loud, obnoxious, and clash horribly with the t-shirt.

And to top it all off, there's a hat. It's not just any hat, but a beanie with two fake cat ears sticking out at the top. I remember getting it as a gag gift, never intending it to see the light of day.

I look at Danny with a raised eyebrow, my expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Really? This is the best you could find?"

Danny, unamused and focused, just shrugs. "It's either that or you go out in a towel. Your choice."

With a sigh, I start to put on the clothes. The shorts are a bit snug, and the t-shirt is one size too large, making the whole outfit look even more absurd. The beanie, with its cat ears, just adds to the comical effect.

As I dress, I can't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. "Well, if we run into trouble, maybe I can distract them with my impeccable fashion sense," I quip, trying to inject some levity into the tense atmosphere.

Hastily donning the mismatched clothes, I try to steady my still-reeling senses. The absurdity of my outfit is a stark contrast to the gravity of the situation.

Exiting my flat, the Kabuki building greets us with its usual sensory overload. The hallways are dimly lit, but alive with the sounds of life in Night City. Somewhere down the corridor, the thumping beats of a Samurai song pulsate through the walls. The lyrics, a gritty anthem of rebellion and survival, feel eerily fitting for the moment. "Chippin' In," the iconic tune, fills the air, lending a surreal backdrop to our escape.

We hurry down the stairs, the music fading into the background as we navigate the labyrinth of the building. As we reach the street, the night air of Kabuki hits me, a mix of neon lights, city sounds, and the unmistakable energy of a place that never sleeps. Our brief moment of respite is shattered by the arrival of a black van with big Maelstrom logo on it's side, screeching to a halt near us. Six Maelstrom members spill out.

"We've got to move, now!" Danny hisses, grabbing my arm. We turn to run back.

From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Mendy Kaminsky, my nosy neighbor, standing at her window. Her face is a mask of shock and indignation as she takes in the scene. She yells something about calling the police, her voice shrill and piercing in the night air. The revelation hits me like a ton of bricks. "This damn data stick is a tracker?" I exclaim, my voice laced with sarcasm and a tinge of panic. "Fantastic. We're a cybernetic breadcrumb trail."

Danny, his expression grim, nods. "We need to move, and fast. They're on us."

I pull myself together, a plan forming amidst the chaos. "Follow me," I say, leading the way with a newfound determination. My knowledge of the building guides us through a maze of corridors and back passages.

"We're going to have to go through Mendy's place," I tell Danny, already anticipating his reaction.

He gives me a look that's half incredulous, half resigned. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope," I reply with a grin that doesn't reach my eyes. "It's our best shot."

As we approach Mendy's door, the sound of gunfire erupts behind us. Maelstroms have spotted us. The sequence unfolds in a blur of adrenaline-fueled chaos. Danny, with a strength born of desperation, throws me into the elevator. His actions are swift and decisive; he smashes the control panel in an instant, rendering it inoperable. With a violent jerk, the elevator begins its descent.

As the doors begin to close, I catch a final glimpse of Danny. He's a whirlwind of motion, his foot connecting with Mendy's door in a powerful kick that sends it splintering inwards. The door gives way under the force, and Danny disappears into her apartment, cutting off any chance of the Maelstrom gang following us directly. The elevator's descent to the basement level is a solitary journey for me, the sounds of the building fading away as I sink lower.

In the dimly lit expanse of the parking area, my heart still racing from the close call, I freeze at the sight that greets me. There, standing by a sleek vehicle, is Skaya. Her blue eyes, always so piercing and intense, are now locked in a serious conversation with a figure I can't quite make out from my vantage point. Her presence here, in the midst of my desperate escape, feels like a bizarre twist of fate. I watch them from the shadows, trying to gauge if this meeting is friend or foe.

Their conversation seems intense, urgent even. Skaya’s gestures are animated, her body language indicating a mix of frustration and determination. The other person, a tall silhouette against the dim light, nods occasionally, but their face remains obscured. I'm torn between approaching them and staying hidden. Skaya has connections, resources that could help me, but there's also the risk of exposing myself. I weigh my options quickly; time is a luxury I don't have right now.

Taking a deep breath, I decide to take the risk. I step out from my hiding spot, my approach cautious yet deliberate. Skaya's eyes catch mine immediately, a flash of surprise quickly replaced by recognition.

"Ryker?" she exclaims, her tone a mix of disbelief and concern.